


RusAme Secret Santa 2017

by chiptease



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Character Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Memory Loss, flowertalia, inconvenient death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 20:44:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiptease/pseuds/chiptease
Summary: @tenrou-star, hello! I’m your secret santa!!The request I followed up on was your flowertalia one. At first, I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but when I looked it up, I was pleasantly surprised!To give a short summary, flowertalia is an au where humans’ lives are connected to a plant they were born with. The more they love something, the more their flower blooms. But if their flower fully blooms, they die!I decided to go with a humanverse flowertalia story for Alfred and Ivan, where Alfred’s flower is a white clover and Ivan’s flower is a pink carnation. I hope you enjoy, and happy holidays![Rated M for heavy angst]





	RusAme Secret Santa 2017

Alfred was a passionate soul.

His father had always criticized his mother for it, saying he got it from her - the burning curiosity of new things that she so readily encouraged. But his mother had always brushed it aside, saying there was no harm in a little learning. That is, until the incident on his sixth grade science class, when his heart almost failed when he learned about the moon’s orbit of Earth. He recalled with pain how he had drifted in and out of the medically induced sleep, seeing his white clover in full bloom by his bedside, as the doctors hurried to quell the dopamine rushing through his head. When he woke, his parents held him from his science class until the moon unit had ended. They had also forbid him from learning any more astronomy, but that didn’t stop him from smuggling Mars books from his local library for long under-the-blanket reads. The way he figured it, there was no point in living if you lead a loveless life. And as he grew older, he had never lost his lust for living, but instead had found better ways to hide it. He would smuggle away his tears of joy, his philosophy and writing and song, for his private walks in the quiet morning woods of northern Maine.

His job as an accountant was less than thrilling, so when the holiday season came and he got a break, he was more than happy to go visit his mother at her nursing home. He and Charlotte had always been close, especially after the fight he had a few years ago with his brother Matthew that left them distant and cold. His mother was one of the only people in his life that didn’t frown on his natural intensity. 

Charlotte was once gorgeous - straight hair cut into a bouncing bob, shimmering blonde pairing nicely with her melted caramel eyes, and skin of smooth clotted cream. But even as time had dulled the sparkle, edged wrinkles in and sagged her cheeks and faded her hair, she still held the grace she had all of her life. And when she smiled the whole room lit up; the sunlight shone a little brighter and the food tasted a little better.

Once he parked his car and signed into the lobby, Alfred went to the living area to find his mother speaking with another woman. She was old and almost waifish in appearance, so pale she was almost like a ghost - nearly translucent. Alfred repressed a shudder as she caught his eyes, quickly followed by his mother happily beckoning him over. When he got there, she stood and placed two pecks to his cheeks.

“Alfie!” she squealed, grabbing his wrists and squeezing gently. “Merry Christmas!”

Alfred smiled a little forcefully under the scrutinizing gaze of the other older woman next to his mother. She was almost ancient.

“This is Malvina,” she continued, oblivious to Alfred’s discomfort. “She moved here from  _ Russia _ ! Isn’t that wonderful?”

The woman inspected Alfred for a few more awkward seconds before offering her hand. Alfred shook it warily - her flesh was cold and veins hardened. He bit his lip and tried his best to look at her straight on. Her face was hard and cold, withered with age and hardship, so unlike his blissfully unaware mother. But her eyes were beautiful - they held a sort of deep lilac hue. Alfred personally admired them for the few seconds of their introduction.

“How old are you?” She rasped, her voice thick with an unmistakably Russian accent. Alfred cleared his throat, realizing his mouth had gone dry.

“Twenty-two.”

She yielded a small smile. “My son is twenty-five.”

At this, Charlotte bounced up. “Oh Alfie, he’s wonderful! So kind and polite.” She winked at him. “And so handsome, too.”

Alfred shifted from foot to foot, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Mom… really.”

“Just saying.” Charlotte turned to Malvina. “D’ya think you could call him in here?”

At this, Malvina turned her head and shouted something in what Alfred assumed was Russian. A deep voice replied a few seconds later before a man strode into the room holding a mug of hot tea. He approached his mother’s side and waited for further instruction.

“This is Ivan,” she announced proudly. Alfred swallowed, having to look upwards to fully take in the man.

At first, the notion that the woman and man in front of him were related was so absurd Alfred nearly laughed aloud. She was small and waifish, hunched over and wrinkled, as if she was carrying some unseen burden. Ivan, on the other hand, was standing tall and proud, towering above the rest of the room. He was broad-shouldered and large, so drastically different from the woman sitting next to him.

But the more he looked, the more he could begin to pick out similarities between the two. Both were pale, and had sharp and clean features. Their noses were a little large and their complexion formal. And Ivan’s eyes… in youth, they shone more vibrantly and clear than his mother. 

Alfred allowed himself a few more seconds of staring. His mother was right - this man was  _ handsome _ . 

He extended his hand and Ivan clasped it formally, as polite and prim as could be. His eyes never left Alfred’s face as he spoke.  
“I am Ivan Braginsky. A pleasure.”

Goosebumps coated Alfred’s arms at his voice, deep and dripping with that accent. He blinked a few times, trying to compose himself, before speaking. “I’m Alfred. The pleasure’s, uh, all mine.”

Charlotte’s smile widened at studying her son’s reaction. “Ivan, would you mind showing Alfred around? He’ll be staying here for a bit, and I know you’ve already made yourself familiar.”

Ivan nodded swiftly, curtly. “Of course, madam.”

Charlotte gave a fluttering laugh. “Ivan, please! It’s just Charlotte. I insist.”

But Ivan was already walking to the door, heels muted on the soft carpet and the crackle of the fire. Alfred hurried along to keep up with him. As they walked, Alfred tried to strike up a conversation. He couldn’t help it - charisma was in his nature.

“So…” he started, looking up at Ivan. “You’re from Russia?”

“Yes.” Ivan didn’t look back, but instead kept walking. Alfred waited in a few moments of awkward silence, and when he saw that Ivan didn’t plan on furthering the conversation, he too initiative.

“Where from?”

“Saint Petersburg.” 

“Oh, that’s cool.”

Ivan didn’t respond. Alfred privately noted that he wasn’t the most talkative individual. 

“I’m from Ohio, actually. Studying in Maine.”

“College?”

“Yeah, Bowdoin. Working my ass off to pay for it, but it’s rewarding. Majoring in literature.”

This seemed to catch Ivan’s interest. His harsh pace faltered for a second, and he look over to Alfred. “Oh, yes? I am a literature major myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Eckerd, but I recently moved to America for my studies.”

“Well, welcome to the states.”

Ivan studied him for only a moment more before looking away and picking back up the brutal pace. Alfred tripped a bit in an attempt to match Ivan’s long strides.

The rest of the day went on like this, Ivan showing Alfred around the building and Alfred attempting chatter. His request was met when Ivan suggested they head back to the lounge to see their mothers, only to find them both gone. The two opted to instead relax on the couches by the fire and talk.

The conversation was pleasant and light. Alfred learned that Ivan was interested in astronomy and had a knack for knitting and chess. The two shared a few laughs and mugs of hot chocolate before deciding to part ways for the night.

As the holiday season progressed, Alfred and Ivan ran into each other more and more frequently. They shared drinks and stories, complained about university, and generally enjoyed being young together. Alfred felt himself grow quite fond of his new friend in the short amount of time spent with him. On the day of Alfred’s departure, he asked Ivan for a phone number so they could meet again outside of the nursing home, but Ivan showed an odd sort of discomfort.

“I… do not think that would be wise.”

Alfred blinked, surprised. “Why not?”

“Well, we are both very busy, yes?”

“Yeah, but we should still link up for coffee or something sometime.”

Ivan looked down to his phone. “Just coffee?”

Alfred felt his cheeks warm up at this, before mentally scolding himself. “Yeah, or for drinks. I don’t really care, I just want to see you again.”

Ivan closed his eyes, as if struggling with himself for a moment, before opening them and smiling. “I think coffee would be great.”

Alfred smiled. “Yeah, me too.”

 

_**Three months later** _

 

Alfred and Ivan had become better friends since the nursing home. They hadn’t just met up for coffee - it was now a weekly event for Ivan to drive over for the weekend to take the early morning walk through the woods with Alfred. They had even hosted an on-campus starparty together.

One night, after a particularly nice dinner, they found themselves back at Alfred’s dorm room. He smiled a little bashfully as he twisted the key and jiggled the lock.

“Thanks for dinner,” he muttered, feeling his face go a little red. “Sorry about the expired credit card.”

Ivan waved him off before he was even finished speaking. “It was nothing, Alik.”

Alfred lingered a moment before pushing open the door. He turned to Ivan. “Do you wanna come in for a bit?”

Ivan blinked. “Are your dorm mates not home?”

“Nah, they’re off at some party. Cmon, I have heating in here.”

With a little more persuasion Ivan followed, settling down on the worn bed as Alfred poured a glass of wine. He tipped the bottle to Ivan, but Ivan shook his head. Alfred shrugged and smiled playfully. “More for me, then.”

“You know I don’t drink - why do you always ask?”

Alfred’s grin widened a bit. “Hoping you’d give it a try some time, to loosen you up.”

Ivan scoffed. “I’m perfectly loose.”

Silence hung in the air for a second before Ivan processed what he said. When he did, both of the boys laughed for a bit before Alfred sat down beside Ivan on the bed, holding a glass of merlot. Ivan raised an eyebrow.

“You have an expired credit card, yet you can afford this?”

“Hey, a boy has his needs.” Alfred took a sip and rested his head on Ivan’s shoulder.

The two sat there for a bit like that, neither wanting to move to disrupt the peaceful silence washing over the room. The crickets chirped outside as the weak moonlight filtered through the window. Alfred hummed a bit in thought.

“You got a girlfriend?”

Ivan stiffened a bit at this before quickly shaking his head. “Not… exactly my style.”

Alfred laughed at this before raising his glass in a “cheers” motion before placing it down. He pressed himself a bit closer to Ivan’s arm. Alfred turned his head to look at Ivan. Ivan was already staring intently at him, his strange purple eyes burning with an emotion Alfred couldn’t quite place. Alfred lifted gentle fingertips to touch his chin, encouraged when Ivan didn’t shrug them off or turn away. He slowly pressed closer, face lifting to paralel Ivan’s, before-

“What are you doing?”

Alfred flinched a bit, retracting his fingers. Ivan quickly stood.

“I… did I read you wrong?”

Ivan’s breath went shallow for a bit and his face turned contemplative. “I… no… you didn’t.”

Alfred felt himself light up at this and stood to meet him. “Then what’s all the fuss about?”

Ivan thought on this and turned for a moment, but when he turned back, he was visibly upset. “I need to go.”

“Wh- Ivan!” Alfred strode after him as Ivan practically ran to the door, grabbing his coat and phone off the nearby table. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Don’t contact me again.” The door slammed, and Alfred heard the sound of Ivan bolting down the steps before the thud of the hall door closing echoed back to him. 

Alfred blinked away the shock before sighing angrily, locking the door and shuffling back to his bed. He picked up the wine glass and took a long swig. 

“That dick,” he muttered quietly to himself before stripping off his shirt and curling into bed. He took another long drink. “That asshole!”

_ Why did Ivan get so angry at me? _

He grumbled a bit before finishing his glass and placing it on the table next to him. He felt his heart clench from the swift and firm rejection of his friend, but tried to shrug it off.

The next morning, he tried to contact Ivan to find he had blocked him. Alfred felt his heart twinge sadly at this. Even if Ivan wasn’t into him, he had just lost a friend. He glanced over to his white clover on the side of the bed. It was noticeably bigger than it had been a few months ago.

He tried not to pay it too much mind. It didn’t work.

 

_**Two weeks later** _

 

Alfred picked up his phone.

“Hello? Mom?”

There was a pause on the other line before Charlotte continued.

“Alfred, Malvina died last night.”

Alfred paused on the other end of the line, putting down his grocery bag and sighing. He knew his mother became attached to people rather quickly. 

“Ah, ma… I’m so sorry.”

“Would you like to come to the funeral? She really liked you.”

Alfred flinched, knocking the bag of oranges over. Attending that funeral, in truth, was the last thing he wanted to be doing over his long weekend. But he knew how upset this must be making his mother. He sighed slowly.

“All right,” he muttered. “When is it?”

“Two thirty on Sunday,” Charlotte replied, sounding relieved over the phone. After a few more minutes of discussion, the two hung up and parted ways for the time being.

That Sunday, after Alfred had driven the long trek to his mother’s home, he stood straightening his tie to his neatly pressed black suit. He tried to prepare himself.

Alfred hated funerals. He hated funerals and oldness and everything having to do with death because life was so precious and fleeting, and the grim reminder of its duration was disturbing. He continued walking with his mother through the doors, to the coffin - he shuddered - which was open. Her face was framed by wispy hair and just barely tinged blue. He felt himself subconsciously retreat as his mother pressed forward. He muttered some half hearted excuse and peeled around the corner to get water, only to run smack into another person. He started to apologize before seeing who it was. The words shriveled and died in his mouth.

Ivan looked like a wreck.

His hair was uncombed and greasy from sweat, and dark bags lined the bottoms of his eyes. His skin was that of wax, his lips chapped and eyes stained red at the corners from tears. Alfred felt his brows pinch together in anger for a moment, growing angry as he recalled what happened, before taking in the reality of the situation. Ivan studied him for a moment before sinking back down to his knees and putting his head in his arms. Alfred sunk down to meet him, awkwardly patting his back a little and thinking of what to say.

Ivan sniffled a bit and he looked so pathetic, so helpless, that Alfred felt the anger in his heart melt away. For now, he just wanted to protect his friend from this. So he wrapped a steady arm around him and stroked his hair while he cried.

After a while, Ivan spoke.

“This is why I cut you off.”

Alfred froze. He gave him a quizzical look, but it was wasted, as Ivan’s eyes never left the floor. He continued in almost a whisper.

“Your flower - it must be bigger.”

Alfred contemplated lying for a moment, but decided it was futile. “Yeah, big guy. But it’s bigger for the right reason.”

Ivan shook his head gently, his voice coarse. “There is no right reason, only bigger and smaller. And mine was…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Mine was getting bigger as well.”

Alfred felt his face color at that, but stayed silent. Ivan soldiered on.

“How could you love so deeply when you know your loved one will die? It always results in this - a funeral and regret. No matter how good it is.” He shuddered. “What if you were the one to cause it?”

Alfred thought on this for a moment before responding.

“You would rather live a cold and isolated life, where there would be no remorse or sadness because there was no joy to begin with? Joy is what makes life worth living, Ivan.”

After a few moments of silence, Ivan continued. “My mother loved me but never showed it. She always showed Kat until one day some boy made her flower peak, and then she stopped. It was when I was four.”

Ivan’s voice trailed off before he turned his face to press into Alfred’s shoulder. Alfred adjusted his one-armed grip so it fit more comfortably. Ivan’s voice dropped to almost a whisper, his eyes now hidden by Alfred’s neat suit.

“I had another sister once.”

Alfred felt himself inhale a bit sharply at this. He tried to stay silent so Ivan could continue. His voice was tight with emotion.

“Nat loved me so much her flower burst at just eight years old. I had to go to her funeral, too. And everyone blamed me for it. Including myself.”

Alfred rubbed small circles into Ivan’s shoulder blade, the silence thick and suffocating. He ran a thumb over Ivan’s palm with his free hand. The two stayed like this for what seemed to be hours until Ivan broke away from Alfred’s embrace and suddenly met his eyes. Alfred returned the gaze, a silent question on his face. Ivan raised his knuckle to brush over Alfred’s chin.

“You are right.”

Alfred looked imploringly, looking for a more specific verbal confirmation. Ivan smiled softly.

“There would be no living without joy, yes? I want to have joy with you.”

Alfred swallowed dryly. “Your mother just passed, Ivan, and I’m sure you need some time to process. I don’t want to pressure you in wake of that.”

Ivan’s smile faltered and he stepped a bit closer to Alfred, running his hand back to his hair. “You aren’t. But after sharing such personal things with you, I don’t feel regret - I feel relief.” His eyes turned serious. “I do not wish to lead the loveless life my mother did. There is no point to that.”

Alfred felt his cheeks burn, not backing away from his advances but not wanting to push Ivan. “Just unblock me and let me know when you want to see me again, okay?”

Ivan’s eyes softened and he placed gentle lips to Alfred’s cheek. 

“Okay.”

_**Four years later** _

 

Alfred lay in bed, feeling the warm sunlight heat his skin and color his eyelids red. He blinked and tried to stretch, not wanting to leave the warm embrace of the thick comforter, before feeling arms tighten around him and a sleepy sound of complaint press into the back of his neck.

He smiled, stroking the arm protectively wrapped around his chest. Ivan sighed in his sleep and Alfred looked at the time.

_ 10:39 AM _

Alfred swiftly turned over, breaking the embrace of his fiance, in favor of looking at him. Ivan’s eyes slowly began to open when Alfred shifted, and when he saw his lover staring back at him, he smiled warmly. Alfred pressed a small peck to Ivan’s jaw in greeting, and Ivan gave a small rumbling laugh, threading his hands through Alfred’s hair and drawing him in for a kiss. But as Ivan reluctantly drew back, their flowers on the windowsill caught his eye.

His own pink carnation bud was peeking petals, but Alfred’s white clover was near bursting. He hummed a bit in concern. Alfred glanced over his shoulder and saw the flowers himself.

“Ive, mine’s always been like that.”

Ivan looked intently to his face. “Are you sure, dorogoy?”

Alfred smiled. “Yeah, big guy. What do you want for breakfast?”

The russian looked as if he was debating furthering this conversation, but after a moment of thought, smiled. “I picked up some oatmeal from the store.”

Alfred grimaced. “That shit’s nasty, babe. I dunno why you eat it.” He winked. “I know you’re old and all, but oatmeal?”

Ivan scoffed as he slowly rose from bed. “I’m not old, Alfred. I’m bordering thirty.”

“Are too, old man.”

“You’re not much younger.” Ivan slipped on a shirt. 

“Of course I am!” Alfred said indignantly as he sat up. “Twenty-six is basically prime youth.”

Ivan rolled his eyes but smiled as he shuffled into the kitchen. Alfred’s playful attitude dropped at once when he saw his flower. He walked over to it.

“Ah, jeez…”

It was  _ huge _ . The only time it had been this full was right before it burst when he was younger. And he hated lying to Ivan, but was scared that if he told the truth, Ivan would leave him.

“Would you like brown sugar on yours?” Ivan called, voice filtering in from the kitchen. Alfred felt himself steel in resolve. He would love Ivan, goddamnit, or die trying.

“Yeah. That’s the only hope for that trash.” Alfred strode into the kitchen to join his fiance.

 

**_A few days later_ **

 

Alfred steered out of the parking lot as he and Ivan chattered about their day. Ivan worked a late shift at the station tonight and Alfred had opted to come pick him up. Both were a little weary from work.

As they turned onto the main street, Alfred spoke about the romantic dinner he had planned for their anniversary this upcoming Tuesday. They’d first go to the nicest restaurant in town, and then go see that new science fiction movie, before coming home and enjoying each other’s company. Their wedding was scheduled for next month, but they figured they’d treat themselves a bit before that. What’s the harm?

“Dude, you’re gonna love this place,” Alfred said excitedly as he turned across the lanes. “They’ve got this bacon steak that’s to d-”

Suddenly, the smash of glass and the crunch of metal hit Alfred’s ears as they slammed backwards. Alfred felt his head snap back and his seatbelt dig into his chest, bruising it. When the splotches of light cleared from his vision, he further inspected himself - he seemed to be fine other than that.

He looked to the passenger side - a drunken driver had t-boned it. His eyes narrowed, looking for Ivan, before…

“Oh my God!”

He fished out his phone and tried desperately to punch in 911, but his hands were shaking with shock. He felt himself losing consciousness from the force of impact and the sight of his mangled fiance. He desperately fought to stay awake, holding Ivan’s hand. But it was to no use.

His vision faded to black. The last thing he remembered was hearing a police siren.

When he awoke, he was laying in a hospital bed. He heart the steady beep of the monitors, and the sharp scent of antiseptic burned his nose. The nurse noticed him and hurried over.

“Sir, how are you feeling?”

Alfred groaned a bit and gingerly touched his head - it was throbbing. “My head hurts like shit. What hap-”

His eyes flew open and he tried to rise from his bed, but a wave of dizziness crashed over him and blurred his sight. The nurse put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Sir please, you have a concussion.”

But Alfred barely heard her. “Ivan! Where is Ivan Braginsky? He’s my fiance, and he was injured badly, and-”

The nurse cut him off with a sad look. “The doctor should probably speak to you about this. I’ll go fetch him.”

After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor strode into the room. Alfred sat up again, wincing at the jolt of intensity and bringing a hand to his head. The doctor began to speak as Alfred bit on his lower lip. 

“He’ll be under the finest care, sir,” the doctor said gruffly. Alfred felt his heart stutter. “His memory is virtually gone. But I assure you, he’ll be in the best treatment we can provide.”

But Alfred was already gone. The white noise pounding in his ears was deafening, drowning out all else. He looked down at his hands. They were clenched together in his lap, shaking and ghostly white. He heard the doctor sadly sigh before continuing.

“Would you like to see him?”

Alfred numbly felt himself shake his head no. 

* * *

 

An hour so or later, Alfred was curled up at home with Ivan’s flower pot in between his arms. He vaguely felt himself shake in shock. The more he tried not to think of Ivan the more he ended up thinking about him, and the more his heart split open. He gazed at the once pink-tipped flower that had now shrunk back to a hard green bud, looking as if it had only sprouted yesterday. And he began to cry.

Tears hit the plant as Alfred felt his face scrunch up and teeth grind. His eyes and throat burned as he thought of Ivan, of their walks in the woods and gentle mornings and soft laughter. And how Ivan would never remember him, never remember letting his heart roam open and free, never remembering truly loving anyone as he burrows himself away from the world.

Alfred felt his heart suddenly stutter. His head slowly turned to his white clover. 

It was blooming.

He hiccuped a laugh as he watched the petals gently waver in the draft from the nearby window, the pearly smooth surface of the small strands lilting. The pain forced him to curl over his stomach, giving a small groan as his heart began beating sporadically. He tried to reach for his phone, but his left arm had gone completely numb. The imbalance of weight tipped him to the side as his heart finally failed.

His head was light, and he thought faintly of his mother and brother. His last words to his brother were full of malice, and he’ll never have a chance to repair that part of his life. And his mother? She had told him that she’ll see him next holiday. He gave a grim smile. Ironically, he had been wondering if  _ she  _ would even make it to the next Christmas. It was almost funny to him.

And he thought of Ivan as he felt his breath pan out. Closing his eyes, he bathed in the warm sunlight on his face, on his neck. It almost felt like soft fingertips in those last seconds of life.

And then there was nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Also published to my tumblr, aphchiptease. Thanks for the read, and happy holidays!


End file.
